


The Other Side (There's No Place Like Home)

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU!Shifter!Rick, Dimension Travel, Family Feels, Feral!Rick, Fluff, Here We Go Again With This Dimension Travel Schtick, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Canon Rick, Join Us We Have Cookies Made Out of Zombie Guts, Lost!Rick, M/M, Post-Episode: s07e04 Service, Protective Rick, Rickyl Writers Group, Shifter Daryl Is Not Happy Where The Fuck Is His Mate, Two Rick Grimes, Werewolf Mates, When AU and Canon Collide, Wolf Rick Serving As Daryl's Bed, Wolf!Rick, WolfRick Rescues Canon Daryl, because I am Marvel trash, pack mentality, petting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ever since Daryl gave him the wolf-blood to save his life after the prison fell, between Terminus and finding a town deep in the middle of the woods with walls that could keep them safe, Rick can say with confidence that life has been good. More than good. He should have known that sooner or later something always fucks it up.It was just a simple supply run and yet Rick's whole world had spun out of its axis. Quite literally. Suddenly, he's found himself lost in an alternate reality, because what else could it be,  where things were the same in one and yet drastically different in others. Rick knew he was lost. He just didn't think he was that lost. And the most pressing question was, how the hell does he return home?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bennyhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/gifts), [Justley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justley/gifts), [kittysaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittysaurus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fade Into Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324953) by [tender_is_the_ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost). 



> I have nobody to blame but tender_is_the_ghost and bennyhatter for their wonderful Shifter/Werewolf fics so here I am with this silly attempt at one. 
> 
> If there are certain similarities to Fade Into Me that's because I was inspired by it to an extent I couldn't quite shake off that wonderful verse from my head. 
> 
> I have no geographical knowledge of the South, or the United States for that matter so I apologize for any discrepancies or weirdness on the locations. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

The day starts as it always does, waking up with his arms wrapped tight around Daryl, fingers splayed across his chest, nose pressed to the soft skin of the back of his mate's neck and just simply, indulgently taking a lungful of his scent. It's a constant sweet and calming mixture of the forest, of Rick's own that's permanently clung to Daryl's flesh as distinct and owning as the claiming mark decorating his hunter's neck. Then there's his children's clean and fragrant smells, of Carl and Judith especially as she's gone and learned that she liked her Papa best in his wolf form than her Daddy, fluffier she says, and was always demanding cuddles, batting them baby blues that Daryl could never say no to.

Rick hums softly as he takes another deep inhale, a low rumbling purr vibrating in his chest that earns a sleepy groan from the body encased in his embrace. Early morning light filters through the sky-blue curtains by the bedroom windows and plays across Daryl's features. Rick chuckles at the sight of his mate scrunching up his nose, finding him endearingly adorable as he crossly curses the sun. The hunter twists in place, grabs a pillow to cover his face with before settling down.

It takes half a minute before Daryl's pulling the pillow off and away and is drowsily blinking up at Rick who's gazing down at him lovingly, right arm stretched out and open palm propped against the side of his head.

"Mornin'." Daryl mumbles, stifling a yawn.

"Morning, darlin'." Rick greets warmly and leans in for a light and lingering kiss upon Daryl's lips. The hunter sighs at the contact and slowly wraps strong arms around Rick's shoulders as he pulls him closer.

"Mhm." Daryl moans softly then pulls back from the kiss and grins at the former sheriff, right thumb leisurely tracing Rick's generous bottom lip. "Ne'er gettin' tired wakin' up ta your stupidly beautiful face, Rick."

Rick just about melts at the open fondness in Daryl's eyes. "You and me both, sweetheart." He counters with smile, then winks and laviciously flicks his tongue.

Daryl eyerolls at his lame attempt at seduction and the petname, but there's a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He looks bashful, always has been whenever Rick calls him any of the myriad of endearments he has in his arsenal. He loves showering his hunter with affectionate touches and words every chance he could get. Tries not to get too worked up when he thinks of Daryl's own kin never bothering to show him the love he deserved and more even in the simplest of ways.

"You look ridiculous." Daryl tells him.

"You love me being ridiculous." Rick pouts like a kicked puppy then full out morphs to his wolf form, pulling a grunt from Daryl when Rick in all his 700 pound furry wolven glory flops on top of him, tongue lolling out before proceeding to lick his mate across the face.

"Oi, geroff. You're heavy." Daryl reprimands beneath Rick, hands flailing as he tries to pry Rick off by his enormous head only to get another lick for his trouble. Daryl scowls at the full-grown wolf terrorizing his bed and reaches to wipe the slobber painting his cheek. "Not cool, dog breath. You're all sticky and wet."

"You've been wet and sticky last night too, baby. Didn't hear you complaining." Rick retorts after shifting just as easily back to his human form, laughing and grinning and soon ducking the pillow that Daryl's throwing his way. With a battlecry, Daryl smothers him in the face with the fluffed up monstrosity and is pinning him down to the mattress, Daryl straddling his equally naked thighs. Rick puts up a fight, then lets out an embarassingly high shriek when Daryl resorts to tickling his sides.

"Stop, stop. Ow. Jesus, stop it. Daryl! I give! I give!" Rick chokes out in between breathless giggles.

Daryl doesn't let up until Rick's almost blue in the face, barely getting oxygen to his lungs from his hysterical laughter. It's a wonder no one's gone up and banged on their bedroom door yet for being so loud in the morning.

"Serves ya right, Sheriff." Daryl huffs and chuckles as he drops by his mate's side. Rick doesn't waste time in throwing an arm across Daryl's stomach, head resting on the other man's chest. Both men catch their breaths in between Rick's playful nips to Daryl's left nipple and Daryl halfheartedly swatting him in the shoulder.

Eventually they settle down and simply listen to the other breathe, letting the gentle lull of their heartbeats wash over their heightened senses as their home slowly wakes up to a brand new day. Rick loves these lazy, early mornings as its become a cherished tradition between him and his mate over the past several years. A time solely just for them before they had to go out and face their people, to do their respective duties as leader and co-leader of the community they've created in this town cum fortress within Huntingrock County.

Arcadia.

Feels like only yesterday that they came upon this little piece of paradise deep in the woods hidden by lush greenery and towering trees. With its thirty foot high steel reinforced concrete walls surrounding the entire town, it kept outsiders since the beginning of the end, just as it had kept whoever was inside from going out. The outside had been teeming with walkers the first time they came across the town and knew that no sane person wanted to attempt to climb a wall that high, not when the sound of the dead shuffling and groaning can be heard from the inside. But to Rick and his family of survivors, it held great promise and a future.

Between him, Daryl, Bob, Abraham and a newly turned Shifter Glenn in their hybrid forms, with strength to spare and hundred times the determination to have a place to keep their family safe, especially for Maggie, heavily pregnant as she was, they helped each other scale up the walls and made slow but sure progress of the walkers once inside, while the rest, the human ones cleaned up from the outside.

It was done in less than three hours with no loss to their numbers. Seeing their smiling, happy faces afterwards made Rick think back to when they managed to clear the prison, back when they had been desperate enough to secure a place after a year of wandering from one camp to the next, needing a place for Lori to have her baby that was not out in the open. Back when they still didn't know Shifters existed and walked amongst them.

Daryl was bit by one in his younger years. He managed to kill it before it could make a meal out of him, barely escaping by the skin of his teeth. But Daryl turned and had been hiding in plain sight and blending in with the humans ever since. Not even Merle knew. Not when Daryl retained brain function even in his wolf and hybrid form. He didn't go crazy. Didn't go on a killing spree or craved for human flesh like the legends said he should. The full moon nonsense didn't apply to him either. It was like he simply had three facets. Human, hybrid and wolf and they all worked seamlessly together.

It had been a shock to know that someone who was an integral and important part of their family, providing for their needs, protecting and stepping up as leader when Rick had been losing his mind, and had looked after his children without asking for anything in return was what people used to call a Werewolf. That someone Rick had grown to love even though he'd been too blind to see it at first; but already couldn't think of a life without the hunter by his side, was labeled a Monster of myth in horror books and films, with the strength and capacity to render flesh from bone with barely any effort.

Rick could have driven Daryl away. Any sane person would have when faced with the dangerous reality of having a killing machine within their midst and was so close to his children. And yet Rick's feelings for Daryl only grew, like the plants in his garden receiving sufficient water and light to help them flourish.

Rick already knew that Daryl was a capable hunter, that his hands have killed walkers and humans alike and was truly gifted with a crossbow, that before the dead started rising, Daryl was the kind of man he would have dismissed as just another backwoods hillbilly redneck. But after everything they've gone through and survived together, he couldn't push Daryl away. The thought didn't even cross his mind. The shock of finding out there was a non-human side to him that had claws and sharp teeth faded very quickly. Because those same hands had patiently taught Carl how to shoot a bow and hold a knife, to aim to kill and learn how to protect himself and his sister. Those strong arms held his baby girl like she's made of glass, always careful and gentle when he tended to her, whether it be carrying her to stop her cries, feeding her or changing her diapers. Those lips kissed her on the forehead multiple times and hummed her to sleep. Judith and Carl might not be his blood but Daryl looked after his children like he was their own.

The love he felt for his brother, his bestfriend, naturally flared up like a damn supernova, trampling everything in its path, all of the doubts and the fears of his less than platonic emotions destroying what he had with the hunter.

Loved him even moreso when Daryl saved him from sure death during the aftermath of the Governor's attack.

His hunter gave him a fighting chance to continue being there for his children when he'd been beaten into a pulp and was suffering from gunshot wounds to the stomach and thigh, adding to the already clear and inevitable death sentence that a walker bite had inflicted upon his left shoulder blade in all the chaos that ensued.

Becoming a Shifter came with a risk. Not everybody could live through the transformation, not everyone agrees with the excruciating pain that happens during the process. And the only person Daryl gave two shits about before the damn zombie apocalypse died after biting them. But it was either he wait for Rick to die and come back as a walker or Daryl tried to keep him alive even if Rick could end up hating him for cursing him to a life as a monster, just like the hunter believed himself to be when nothing could be farther from the truth.

And Rick lived through it, just as Daryl hoped he would. If there was anyone that could survive the wolf bite it would be Rick. Because he sure was the most stubborn, toughest sonofabitch the hunter knew and out of all of them had strongest determination and reason to live.

Rick couldn't stop himself if he tried. Overwhelmed by both love and gratitude in equal measure, he spilled his carefully hidden emotions to the hunter, bracing himself for the rejection, the heartache, only to be pleasantly surprised that Daryl felt the same way about him.

_Damn Rick, I practically worshipped the ground ya walked on. Thought ya knew an' was bein' all decent friend 'bout it an' pretendin ya don't get uncomf'tble with me around. We're both morons. S'what we are._

Rick didn't really know what to say to Daryl's confession, too shocked to form words, and so he acted instead.

Their first kiss happened right after Rick's first lesson in keeping the wolf under control, intoxicated on the feel of the forest around them. With the wind whipping across their faces from a long and satisfying run through the woods in their wolven forms, adrenaline and energy was on an all time high and hormones were all over the place. They pounced on each other with lips, teeth and tongue clacking, hands groping and grabbing like they can't get enough and needed the other to breathe.

Thus the start of their passionate and fiery romance.

It didn't take long before the wolf's instincts kicked in and in two week's time Rick found himself sinking his teeth onto Daryl's shoulder for the claiming mark as they consummated their love under light of the full moon, running on pure animal desire as the mating bond was created, tying them to each other, heart, mind and soul for as long as they lived.

One fun fact about wolves, they mated for life.

It was Abraham and Michonne that volunteered for the wolf bite after he and Daryl decided to tell their family of what they are after the nightmare that was Terminus. Carl had been firmly on his dad and Daryl's defense as he'd been there when Rick was dying, hovering anxiously by the abandoned house's kitchen entrance, watching helplessly as his father went through the transformation, writhing and thrashing in pain on the bloodstained floor.

Carol had known way before Rick about the Lycan blood and accepted Daryl just as easily as he did. Kept his secret close to her chest. Her only grievance was not pressing for more and backing down when Daryl time and again kept refusing her the wolf bite, terrified of what if Carol dies and he will not have her death in his conscience. Pleaded for her to understand that he can't lose her like that. But it was Carol's decision and with everyone in on the secret, and with Rick considering saying yes to Michonne and Abraham, if she had to let herself be bitten by a walker to force Daryl or Rick to give her what she wanted, then she damn will.

She wasn't budging and they were left with no choice.

When Carol came out on the other side after the wolf blood had settled in her system, positively thriving and full of life, it was a good sign. Michonne followed, then Abraham, both surviving the change. Bob, ever the optimist volunteered next, the decision ultimately saving his life when he got bit at one of their runs near a church where they stayed for a short while. However, the rest had been skeptical, the risk of dying was still a risk. They lost Tyreese to the walkers that way when he got bit by one and Rick had given him the wolf bite much like how he had taken it. Tyreese unfortunately didn't make it through the full transformation.

He'd been dying, too weak for the blood.

Sasha had been inconsolable and went off the rails for a while until they came across a kid Noah, who recently escaped a place called Grady Memorial Hospital and made mention of a blonde teenage girl named Beth that saved his life, one he needed to come back for to rescue. Sasha took to him like a mother hen to her chick. Later, she and Bob basically adopted the teenager. 

At that point in time, they didn't want to think about the people they lost during the Governor's attack, but it was a concrete information that Beth was alive and they had a damn good destination of where to go to next. Getting Beth reunited with her sister and brother in law, and once again seeing her bright smile the second she saw Judith and asked to carry her with love in her eyes will always be one of Rick's most treasured memories.

Not even the memory of Rick and Daryl tearing apart the trigger-tense policewoman that nearly cost Beth her life, narrowly missing her head as Rick pushed her out of the way and morphed to his hybrid form closely followed by Daryl could ruin it for him.

With Michonne, Abraham and Carol behind them, eyes spinning to their wolven shape and shade with claws extended, no one moved a muscle from the opposing group, too shocked and afraid of what they were seeing until the female officer that had been among the ones they kidnapped for the exchange told her people to stand the fuck down and begged them leave.

Rick didn't bother opening an invitation.

Once inside Arcadia's walls, Rick's family made a quick sweep of any usable supplies left. The corpses and walkers alike looked to have bled profusely from the eyes, much like the sickness that had taken over the prison. Whatever hit them then hit here. It was easy to piece together what had happened that ended this bit of civilization in the woods. The blood had been fresh, the bodies still on the early stages of decomposing, some of them lying torn apart outside, and smelled absolutely awful especially to a wolf's heightened olfactory sense. Good thing there was none of the fevered sweetness permeating the air that Rick had smelled and fought not to gag about when the prison had been in the thick of it.

Whatever outbreak took place, it hadn't been too long ago and so there should still be a goldmine of supplies left lying around. And sure enough, there was.

The main mansion in town had once belonged to some crackhead Messiah wannabe that believed he was the Second Coming and was able to lure in followers with his wealth, promises of being saved and to be a part of his flock. As long as they were to give ten percent of their earnings, their tithes and offerings, they would get to live in the Promised Land within the walls.

The rotting, lumbering dead body of said false Messiah met the sharp end of Daryl's hunting knife. In a way, he served as the savior for Rick's people, the place he had picked to erect his Paradise on Earth well away from the road and hidden from sight, with its own solar panel and grid, cisterns and eco-based sewage infiltration system.

It was meant for sustainability.

There had only ever been three instances that other survivors had wandered to their town. Made a wrong turn and got lost. Two sets had been plunderers and just smelled of wrong and bad intentions, those they swiftly dealt with without mercy. While one group of exhausted and traumatized faces greeted them. They'd been part of a civilized town a hundred miles down south called Alexandria that had been overrun by walkers in the thousands. There had been well over a hundred citizens but only twenty-three made it out alive and fifteen survived on the road before coming across their home.

They've proven to be quite the useful addition since.

"Ya goin' with Glenn for tha' supply run today?"

Rick comes out of his musings and burrows his face against his mate's neck before nodding his head, not quite ready to be away from Daryl and his family yet for the next three days. They work on rotation so as much as he hated having to leave, he had to do his part.

They were not starving, far from it actually, especially after the architect Reg and his politician wife Deanna proposed the idea of expansion, from growing more crops to plans of an education system. There was still a big part of the town that was unused and uninhabited and the couple had been very valuable in their input to make Arcadia a thriving community. Seemed they were well on their way to doing the same on their home in Alexandria until the walkers had overrun the town and they lost their children Spencer and Aiden to the herd.

Just because they were abundant in supplies right now didn't mean they'd allow themselves to grow soft and forget the core basics of survival. Nothing lasts forever.

Deanna's people thought they were safe. They were not. And Rick's not about to do the same mistake with his family. Scouts are still being sent out on a weekly basis. Keeping an eye on any nearby camps or settlements that could prove to be problematic or dangerous or both. Food and water stays rationed. His people. His core family had to always be armed at all times even when most of the time it's just for show for Rick and Daryl and the rest of them carrying the wolf in their blood.

"Hoping we get a good haul on this run." Rick says as he lifts his head a fraction only to rub his nose against his hunter's chest, purrs when Daryl rakes fingers through his hair and basically pets him, tugging at his curls.

"Be careful out there." Daryl says whisper-soft.

Rick smiles and nuzzles on a firm pec. "You know I always do. Got you and our kids to think about."

"Just checking." Daryl smiles as Rick begins to nibble on the silver-link chain necklace on Daryl's chest. The dog tags engraved with his and Daryl's names with the word _Forever_ written in flowing script on its surface and the one that reads _Hunter_ (Rick has his own version that says _Sheriff_ ) suddenly looks distractingly shiny in the morning light.

Rings didn't work as the metal breaks upon their transformation. And so Daryl, the clearly creative part of their duo, surprised Rick with personalized couple dog tags instead, despite claiming he had no romantic bone in his body, reinforcing the original accessory with a silver-link chain as their sort of wedding slash bonding gift. Made sure that he got Rick's neck measurements just right in wolf form to avoid any risk of choking.

Rick barely takes the chain off, and so does Daryl.

"Don' eat it, man." Daryl berates, chuckling. He gently yanks his mate upwards by his soft curls coupled with a tender whisper of _C'mere ya silly thing_  before he has Rick's mouth against his own, his thighs sliding open invitingly as Rick slots comfortably against him.

They don't leave the bedroom for another hour.

 

* * *

 

Their supply run that day will mostly be for Maggie's baby shower. She's eight months along with their second child and Hershel Dale Rhee, dubbed HD by a giggling Carl, is growing to be quite the bubbly and cheery three year old and a very vocal and excited big brother to be.

While Maggie well, she's positively blooming.

The eldest Greene sister is perpetually smiling and pink-cheeked with bright sparkling expectant eyes, her mood swings finally a thing of the past much to her husband's and their core family's relief. Maggie's always been a force to be reckoned with all on her own, but pregnant and with those motherly instincts kicking in, especially now with the wolf-blood coursing through her veins, she was not someone anyone wanted to cross. Definitely not during her first and second trimester in particular with her hormones flaring up every now and again.

Rick's pretty sure Maggie's going to end up breaking more than Glenn's hand once she goes into labor.

Carl's turning eighteen next month and it was his time. His boy's ready, been ready since he hit his growth spurt at sixteen. He's ecstatic to become a Shifter just like his dads and uncles and aunts and he always made sure that Rick didn't forget it for a second. Couldn't stop talking about finally going with them on pack runs. Endless musings over what color his coat would be, what shade were his eyes going to be. If anyone asks Rick, Carl's just excited to finally be able to race alongside Beth.

Beth had taken the wolf bite last year and took to it like fish to water, her taupe-colored fur a beautiful sight to behold with forest green wolven eyes. It was Maggie that bit her and had shown her the ropes of being a Shifter, specifically of being the female variety. Rick nor Daryl had no definite explanation for it, but it had become increasingly clear that the women had a much easier time of the transformation than the men.

Tara, Rosita and Sasha sure enough went through the Shift as if merely having a bad short case of the flu, and were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the next day.

The jeep's door pulls open and Glenn plops down on the leather seat with a dopey grin on his face and a couple of bruises decorating his neck, matching the same ones Rick's no doubt wearing after Daryl was done making him howl. One of their kind's perks was accelerated healing, fastest when they are in full wolf form, but they also had the ability to slow the process, and Glenn, just like Rick, is making it a point to keep the bruises and the scratches from a passionate night from disappearing on their flesh just yet. Rick loved the constant reminder in fact, of what had caused the small aches and pains coursing through his body as the day progressed.

Glenn leans against the headrest, glances at Rick with a shit-eating grin and fistbumps him jovially, Tara's influence through and through before Rick looks back towards the entrance of their home, and seeing Noah on gate duty deep in conversation with his mate.

"Had a good night, Glenn?" Rick says with a raised brow, side-glancing him and matches grin for grin. He can smell the lingering smell of sex on his brother and that might just be too much information about Glenn's sex life first thing in the morning, but Rick's happy for him.

"The best." Glenn answers with a whistle and perks up as he adds cheekily, "And morning too." He tilts his head towards Daryl's figure by the gates. "And you?"

"You really have to ask?" Rick half-laughs at the caught in the headlights look on Glenn's face, no doubt recalling the times he walked in on him and Daryl in the middle of coupling, before they found Arcadia, sqwawking like a traumatized bird at the sight of their hybrid forms going at it like it's a marathon, apologies spilling from his lips as Michonne laughed herself sick in the background.

Glenn ducks his head, sheepish. "Yeah, stupid question." he says as Rick starts the engine and the jeep goes on a slow roll towards the gates. Daryl tears himself away from his conversation with Noah, nods once at the younger man before he makes for Rick's side of the jeep.

The hunter greets Glenn with a _hey_ and a nod before his focus zeroes in on Rick, blue-gray gaze softening and a smile lifting at the corners of his mouth. Rick leans in and winds long fingers around Daryl's neck as he brings their lips together for a bone-melting kiss.

Daryl's pupils had dilated and shifted to its wolf state the second they part, blown wide and nothing but a ring of blood red in the middle where his irises should be. Rick can smell the arousal from his mate and has to fight back a possessive growl from escaping him, tamps down the urge to spread Daryl on the hard concrete ground, mount him and fuck him six ways to next week.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Rick says, a low groan letting loose up his throat with his amber gaze locked in on Daryl's own, alternating between his eyes and the inviting curve of his lips. "Fuck, I want you right now."

Daryl chuckles and damn he's enjoying this, Rick realizes. His hunter just loves being able to get Rick all hot and bothered on his way outside the gates, Daryl's arousing scent a constant thought at the back of his mind.

"I'll still be here when you get back." Daryl replies, voice low and smooth like butter, licking his lips and purring like a cat and dammit, he's doing it on purpose.

Rick's not gonna whine like a bitch in heat. "Fuck you, dearest."

"That's the idea." Daryl continues with that same damn purr and a wicked gleam in his rose eyes. "Sweetheart."

Rick bites back a moan and glares at his mate. Daryl knows for a fact that any petname coming from his mouth serve as the strongest of aphrodisiacs for the former sheriff and he's using it to his advantage. Rick's torn between feeling proud by his hunter's playful deviousness or wipe the smirk off his face with his teeth. 

"Get outta here." Rick grumbles with an unimpressed pout as he half-heartedly shoves his mate away.

Daryl laughs and lunges for him all affectionate-like, bumping foreheads and nuzzling cheeks and screw it Rick can't help but whine pitifully anyway at the easy and comfortable touches. Well, until Glenn rudely clears his throat and grunts, "Any day now, gentlemen."

Rick and Daryl reluctantly pull apart, one last lingering kiss between them, _I loves yous_ exchanged before Daryl has to visibly back away. He slaps his hand against the jeep's side door. He wishes them the usual good luck and the reminder to keep an eye out for each other.

Daryl lingers. "Got everything ya need?"

"Yeah." Rick answers, his expression turning somber as he feels a sudden tightening at the pit of his stomach. Dread feeling like lead down his gut. He drinks in the sight of his mate as if he's a drowning man, memorizing every little detail, fingers twitching to reach out and never ever let go. Rick doesn't understand where the strange feeling is coming from or what's causing it but it's making him uneasy, the fine hairs on his neck standing up on end. "Hey, can you make sure to put more guards to keep a steady lookout on the surrounding area?"

"What's wrong, Rick?" Daryl asks with a worried frown, reading him easily, in tune with his mate's emotions.

"I just... have a bad feeling." Rick lets out and takes a quick survey of the inside of their home, bites on his lower lip lost in thought. "Ask around if anyone's sick. Have Denise and Beth do a check-up. I know we just did one a couple of weeks ago, but I don't..."

"Hey, ya don't hafta explain." Daryl intervenes before Rick drives himself into a fit. "I trust yer instincts alpha."

"Hey, guys... what's going on?" Glenn chimes in.

"Rick's got'a bad feeling." Daryl supplies.

Glenn's eyes widen, worried and alert. Rick's bad feeling was what saved Beth just in time from getting a bullet to the head back at the Grady Memorial Hospital. And the last time Rick had a _bad feeling about something,_ they had to deal with a baseball bat-toting psycho nutjob and his group of biker boy plunderers stumbling upon their walls.

Dwight and Tina, two of the Alexandrians had volunteered information of prior knowledge about the group of men, their leader in particular while on an emergency Council meeting geared towards eliminating the threat. Had confessed that they once belonged to the same group that called themselves the Saviors. Explaining how they barely escaped and made it out alive before Aaron saw them on the road in one of his recruitment runs and took them in. It was just dumb bad luck that Tara, Noah and Rosita came back from their supply run just as the said threats strutted and tutted outside their gates and held them at gun point, as insurance, while their leader Negan asked to talk to the man in charge. 

Rick did not for one second buy Negan's initial excuse of merely having gotten lost and asking them nice, civilized folks for help so they can all be on their way and out of each other's hair without anyone getting hurt. He brought close to fifty men with him. That was not getting lost, that was a man who'd been watching them from afar and had enough information to draw from that Rick and his family were small game and would be easily overwhelmed and pushed to their knees without much of a fight. He was there to take control of Rick's home right under his fingers just like the Governor had done. Small mercies that the enemy didn't seem to know about the secret of Rick's family that held them at an advantage; that they were literal wolves in sheep's clothing, else they wouldn't have been so stupid to see Rick and his pack eye to eye.

Dwight and his wife only further confirmed Rick's suspicions of the type of game Negan liked playing at. The man had charisma, a voice that carried and demanded respect and though it grated immensely on Rick's instincts to keep his head bowed and to appear meek before the enemy as Negan proposed a negotiation of Rick and his people giving fifty percent of their town's supplies from there on out, Rick was able to keep the facade of the unassuming, weak and soft-hearted man that just wanted to make sure his people stayed safe and was willing to do anything to keep it that way. Carol drove the point home of just how weak the citizens of the town were, how sheltered they were behind their walls with her superb acting skills of being the frail, doting older sister to Rick that just didn't want any trouble. 

They let the plunderers walk out their gates with Negan promising he'd be back in a week's time to get his stuff, already taking half of their supplies anyway on that same day, not knowing any better that Rick and his pack already had a good whiff of their scents, that they were going to be slaughtered on their road to home in the cover of the night. Negan couldn't be allowed to live for too long. He was bad news and their strength was in their numbers according to Dwight. He was a sick sonofabitch that loved striking fear in the hearts of men, had an unhealthy obsession with bashing people's heads in and if that man had a wife, he was gonna take 'em too to serve as part of his collection of distraught widows to fuck.

Naturally, Glenn was all for making sure that the bastard get put down before he could come anywhere near his wife and sister-in-law and lay his dirty hands all over his two most precious girls in the world.

They had to strike first. Leave not one soul alive. 

Their pack had been all for it. 

A fews days after they attacked Negan's people right where they camped out for the night on their way back to their base, when they all made the uniform decision of eliminating the problem early on, cut the head so to speak, Glenn had still been complaining how it feels like he still has some of the whackjob's brain stuck in his teeth.

Without Negan to lead, having never returned to their Sanctuary with the men he took with him, the title for being the new boss was up for grabs and no one could decide who the new leader was going to be. The Saviors broke off into smaller factions giving Rick and his pack ample opportunity to pick them off one by one in the following months. They didn't kill everyone, some they let go when they no longer posed any threat and was just trying to survive. Turned out there was quite the number of Negan's followers that only followed him, kneeled before him and allowed to be owned because they felt like they had no other choice.

"We should stay inside the walls. We can do the supply run another day." Glenn quips, more than okay with staying put where he can keep his eyes on his pregnant wife and son. 

If Rick had a penny for everytime he had a bad feeling, he'd be a millionare in the Old World.

He shakes his head. They have to do the supply run today. A day without going breaks up rotation, plus they already had a couple of destinations in mind for the things they'd need for the Shower. And then it's just going to be a few stops after that to find the usual things included in their supply runs. One day could mean the place could go up in flames or looted by stragglers and he can't ruin it for Maggie just because he had a bad feeling. Hell, everybody was excited about the baby shower. Surely, Daryl and the rest of their core family of Shifters can keep Arcadia safe while he's not around.

"We have to do this today. We'll be quick." Rick says mind made up. He looks at Daryl and receives a nod.

"Ya be careful out there too. Yer so focused on our safety here, Rick. But yer the ones gon' be on the road." Daryl points out, reaching out a hand and curling his fingers around Rick's forearm. "Don' worry. I'll keep us safe here. We all will. Ya just best watch out for yerself and Glenn." The hunter says, then grins. "Don't let him outta yer sight. Ya know he still trips when he's on them four legs."

"Hey!" Glenn pipes up affronted. "That was one time, Daryl. I tripped one time."

Daryl smirks. "Sure, keep tellin' yerself that, man."

Rick can't help it, he breaks into a laugh, the feeling of dread in his gut receding at least some by his mate and brother's antics. "Hey now, settle down. We all tripped at one point. There's no shame in it."

After a few gruff exchanges that were really more playful in nature, Rick and Daryl kiss one last time telling the other that he'll see him soon before they're driving the rest of the way to the entrance and crossing the gates until they're outside of Arcadia's massive walls.

Rick kept watching the rear-view mirror until Daryl was nothing but a dot in the distance before he fully focuses on the path the jeep is taking through the woods. Soon enough the jeep is coming out onto the main road and Rick feels somewhat bereft, already missing his family. 

Glenn beside him looks just about the same as he feels.

Rick shakes off the gloomy feeling that's just beginning to creep up and wrap around his heart. He trusts Daryl to keep their family and their children safe. Walker bites no longer had any effect on them, coupled with accelerated healing and a near impenetrable flesh when it came to bullets, though too much at once can still potentially kill anything that moves, nothing should be able to harm them too badly outside the safety of their home.

Rest assured, Rick will be back to his children and his mate's comforting arms in no time at all.

He didn't think he'd be so wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own.

Rick comes to awareness with the sun in his eyes and the sensation of something sticky and wet sliding down his temple. He doesn't need to bring a hand up to know he's cracked his skull. The smell of blood is strong. He tries to move from his position on the unforgiving damp ground and has to grit his teeth when the slightest motion causes a stabbing pain to shoot up his spine.

"Sonofabitch." Rick rasps out, jaw clenching and ignores the pain as he slowly, agonizingly takes inventory of each limb. Relieved to know that aside from a sprained right ankle and dislocated left shoulder, nothing seems to be broken. Still smarts like a bitch, however, even as he can feel the lycan blood begin to heal his injuries, the worst he can assess being the wound on his lower left stomach where he can feel blood soaking through. He must have hit a jagged rock on his way down.

It's going to be a few minutes before he can get up.

Rick lets out a world-weary sigh, the back of his head making a low thumping sound as it connects once more with the soggy ground. The injured man winces, reaches up to carefully feel along his hairline where the blood is sluggishly dripping down half of his face and ends up bumping his fingers against something hard stuck in the skin. He haltingly yanks the thing out with his good arm, eyelid twitching like he's having a seizure as the pain spikes and more blood trickles out.

With a grunt, Rick has the object loose and on his open palm to accusingly stare at. It's a shard of glass from the jeep, when he hit the windshield from the impact and went sailing through the air. He prods at his face, fingers catching on more than a few stinging cuts, looks at his forearms and sees multiple half-healed lacerations as well. He cocks his head up, hoping to get a better view of how far he nose-dived from the road, but can only see trees and leaves and winding roots. Pebbles and stones and rocks. Plus dirt and even more dirt. Though going by the looks of things and how much his body is protesting, it must have been a long tumble down with him ending up at the bottom of the ravine.

He knew something bad was going to happen. He felt it. His instincts basically slapping him in the face with how wrong it felt to leave, and yet he didn't listen.

They were almost done with the run. One more stop and they were good to return home, loaded with the needed supplies for the baby shower, merely missing a couple of things on the list provided to them. Hell, they even came across Denise's request for Tara's favorite soda, along with more medicine and canned food, new seeds to cultivate and add to their growing farmhouse. Glenn was driving and they'd been playing a game of I-Spy that was becoming old fast but was good enough to pass the time. They didn't see a lot of walkers for the past two days, didn't see any other humans either.

It had been a fairly uneventful run. Quiet. Peaceful.

The sun was down and their surroundings had gotten sufficiently dark as they drove along a rather tricky stretch of road. They were looking for a place to stay the night before doing their last stop the next day.

Or at least that had been the plan.

All Rick remembers is the image of a stag appearing out of seeming nowhere chased by a herd of walkers, of the jeep swerving and the sound of brakes hitting and glass shattering; the weightlessness, then hitting the ground, pain punching him in all directions as he kept rolling.

He thinks he might have heard Glenn scream his name.

Its stupid. He should have known to put a seatbelt on, then he wouldn't have been in this predicament. He can only hope that Glenn, the one who clearly had the brains to secure himself, got out of the road okay.

_He's fine, Rick. Kid's obviously smarter than you. Now stop pouting. Shit already happened. What ya hafta do now's get on yer ass an' come back home._

"In a minute, sweetheart." Rick tells the voice in his head, Daryl's deep and gruff voice ordering him to return to his family giving him the needed boost to climb out of this shithole. Torturingly slow, he pulls himself up to a sitting position, stifling a sharp cry of pain from erupting out of his throat when his ribs creak from the act.

He lifts his shirt to further assess the damage.

The wound on his stomach looks a mess, but it's healing so he's not too worried about it. Bruises are minimal at least. It had been night when he plummeted over the side of the road. The wolf-blood no doubt began the healing while he was out cold. He's gonna need to Shift to his wolf form as soon as he's able in order to hurry things along. Bracing himself, Rick cradles the dislocated shoulder by his side and curls his right hand over the tender flesh, thankful for Carol, not for the first time for teaching Rick how to do this for himself. Its saved him from a lot of pain more times than he can count.

Rick twists the upset joint back into place. Despite his best efforts, expletives still spewed out of his mouth at the burning agony the act caused. He takes a shaky breath and afterwards, tests his left arm and shoulder's mobility, finds the pain has reduced to a dull ache.

He can't do much for the sprained ankle but he knows as soon as he's on all fours, that shouldn't be too much of a problem. He slowly rids himself of his boots, comforted to notice that it didn't hurt as much as the shoulder did. Next, he peels off his black shirt and gray-button down, painstakingly followed by Rick shimmying out of his pants and boxers. He folds his clothes, boots on top of the pile and shoves it under a heap of branches and dried leaves that he's collected from around him.

Rick Shifts and gingerly picks himself up on all fours. Or three as it may since he can't quite lean heavily on the injured paw without yelping. Even so, Rick can already feel the healing process accelerate and it will only be a matter of time before he's fully functional again. With his nose in the air, Rick sniffs his surroundings as he tries to search for Glenn's scent, hoping to get an idea of which direction his friend was at hours ago so he can follow his trail and go back up the road. He can't smell him anywhere however, which Rick quickly surmises he must be either pretty far down or Glenn didn't so much as try to follow him down the ravine to search for his sorry ass. This spikes a wave of worry in Rick because that's not like Glenn at all. Seeing in the dark hasn't been a problem for his family since becoming Shifters. For sure, once Glenn was done taking care of the herd and most probably hunting the stag for the meat, if the walkers didn't get to it first, Rick knows that his friend, practically brother would not leave him behind without at least trying and leaving his scent for Rick to follow.

That could only mean Glenn had been in a position that hindered him from coming to Rick's aid or that Glenn' s decided it was better to go home first and get an extra set of hands to help with the search.

Rick really fucking hopes its the latter.

The sound of groans and shuffling feet assault his ears making Rick curse the second he looks to his left and sees four to six walkers coming his way.

Only then does Rick realize his luck that walkers didn't stumble upon him while passed out, else these things would have been elbow deep in his viscera by now and then he'd really be dead. The thought of his mate and son finding him like that, with his guts hanging out and all chewed up has Rick swallowing down bile.

He can't do that to Daryl, or Carl or Judith.

Rick takes a hobbling step back and another, waiting for the right moment to Shift to his hybrid form.

Standing at eight foot of pure muscle, six walkers is nothing against the former sheriff but he's not exactly a hundred percent yet either so it takes a bit more effort to stop the dead for good. Rick would rather not have the taste of rotting flesh in his mouth and so his aim is to bash their skulls in with clawed hands instead.

Once the walkers are taken cared of, Rick starts his trek up the ravine, figures the best and most straightforward way out of that dirt and rock infested incline was up. After a few failed, quite painful attempts, Rick's finally able to see the stretch of road ahead and Shifts easily to his full wolf form. Its one thing for an unsuspecting passerby to witness the sight of a five foot wolf, but it's an altogether different matter to come across an eight foot fanged and clawed figure and not have any human wanna empty their guns on him out of instinctual fear.

A couple or four bullets at a time might not kill Rick's kind, but pain is pain and a headshot's still a headshot and he's not dumb enough to risk his life that way.

He emerges to the empty road, with his nose pressed to the ground, still trying to get a whiff of Glenn but finds absolutely nothing. Alarm bells begin ringing in Rick's head as he surveys the immediate area. There are no glass shards, no tire tracks telling of abrupt breaks. Hell, there isn't even a single walker's dead body in sight. He finds it hard to believe that Glenn didn't at least knife a few, or ran over a couple with the jeep before driving out of there, hopefully straight to Arcadia.

Rick puts weight on his injured hind paw and lets out a relieved burst of breath when it doesn't make him yelp. His left shoulder, now front leg don't ache as much as it did earlier too. Running for home looks to be his only choice left as he's clearly never going to get the answers he needs by just standing at the side of the road.

He'd also very much like to avoid worrying Daryl and his children further than he no doubt already has.

Rushing towards home as fast as his four paws could carry him, Rick's thoughts inevitably begin recounting what occured during and after the fall. He can't really make heads or tails of it but he knows he felt something, aside from the pain, when he hit the ground rolling. Like the world shifted and he came out of it not quite right.

Even now, he feels a persistent sense of wrongness at the back of his neck and can only dearly hope it doesn't mean anything nefarious had happened to his family.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen miles out from non-stop running and Rick's sure his lungs are about to collapse in his chest. His muscles are burning something awful, long tongue flapping in the wind. He's so thirsty he could really use a gallon or ten.

Catching sight of the familiar copse of trees that serve as cover for their home from unwelcome eyes, Rick gains faster momentum despite the ache in his bones. Just the thought of coming home to his children and Daryl, with his arms around them and their arms around him, their scents filling his senses is more than enough to make him forget how he's practically dead on his feet from exhaustion and the sun beating down his back.

As soon as he's under the shade of trees and fast approaching the path he'd used a mere couple of days ago, Rick however abruptly halts to a stop, feeling his knees just about give from under him, heart dropping by his feet at the nightmarish sight that greets his eyes.

_No._

The gates are open.

_Please don't._

Walkers roamed everywhere.

_No no no no!_

Rick didn't think, couldn't. He ploughed through the mass of rotting, shambling bodies, making straight for the center of the town square where the walkers are at the thickest, dead, unseeing eyes turning to track the sound of Rick's frantic howling, calling, pleading for his family, for anybody to answer. Receiving no reply, he rounded for home towards the main mansion at the north part of town with the dead hot on his heels. Rick just about bursts through the front door in his hybrid form, the hinges falling off like sandpaper as he rushes straight for the living room, the kitchen, the children's bedrooms, only no one was around. He keeps searching the rooms.

"Daryl! Carl! Judith!" Rick calls out loudly, near hysterical in his worry, but there's still nothing but the sound of walkers that seem to blanket the entire town.

Standing at the open door of the master bedroom, his chest heaving and tears threatening to spill, Rick takes a wide-eyed survey of its four corners as realization dawns like quicksilver that no. No, this is not his home.

The color of the sheets and curtains are wrong. Gone are the pictures of his children decorating the nightstand. Pictures of the four of them. The rest of their core pack. Of him and Daryl locked in an embrace, a candid shot that Beth had taken during their first year anniversary.

The half-finished book he'd bookmarked that day he left on his side of the bed is gone. He doesn't see Daryl's favorite cap or his glovebox, his crossbow or the pair of sunglasses that Carl gifted Daryl with on his birthday, one he's always worn despite wearing things like that ain't really him, saying that the discomfort in his eyes was worth it to see Carl smile seeing him wear the gift.

Going through the drawers and the closet, it soon became increasingly clear that there was not a single article of clothing or object that can serve as proof that Daryl and Rick occupied this room, that they lived here or that they made love on that bed so many times Daryl had been sure it was going to break one of these days.

In between bashing the skulls of walkers that has been trickling in from the outside, Rick checks Carl and Judith's rooms again, finding them just as void of anything that belongs to his children. Not even their beloved smells. Not the faintest trace or any lingering smell from his three most precious people met his nose in the place where their scent should be the strongest.

With a despairing roar, Rick turns and puts the walker suddenly stumbling out of the closet in a chokehold. He's about to separate its snarling, mangy face from the rest of its flailing body by squeezing its neck when its features register to Rick as vaguely familiar.

Rick's eyes widen, disbelief joining the grief.

Its the original owner of Arcadia.

He remembers Daryl putting a knife to this walker's skull.

How the hell is this possible?

Rick doesn't have time to ponder on such a discovery. Or that he's noticed how some of these walkers look to have bled from the eyes, just like the first time they came across the town and took the land from the dead. Rick puts the walker out of its misery and leaps for the third floor of the mansion, pushing open the windows and scans the entirety of the walker-infested town.

He studies the dead bodies on the ground and the dead walking but doesn't see any face that belongs to his core and extended family, especially the human ones. There's no sign of Tobin, Eugene or Morgan, Denise or Heath, Reg or Deana, Jesse or Ron, Dwight and his wife. There's no dead Alexandrians. No fresh blood on the ground. Like everything happened years ago and the place had been untouched since.

He takes another sniff of the air and is hit with another wave of extreme disquiet and of utter despair by the sheer nothingness that meets his nose. Nothing but the smell of rot and death. For a second Rick worries his sense of smell was shot but swiftly dismisses the theory as he can smell every other unwelcome odor just fine.

Tears sting his eyes, trailing down his fur-covered face as he drops on his ass like a puppet with its strings cut, clawed fingers clutching at his head, a wounded and wailing howl coming from his chest as he begins to rock back and forth. Not understanding. Not accepting.

It had only been three days since he left. How was it possible for Rick's whole world to just... disappear?

It doesn't make sense why his family, his beautiful, strong kindhearted hunter, his darling baby girl, his stubborn and determined boy were just... gone.

He has to find them. He _needs_ to find them.

Rick doesn't know the first thing to look for, or where to look for them as there's absolutely nothing to track, but he'd rather die first before he'd even consider giving up.

 

* * *

 

The days, weeks or had it been months, all have bled together and Rick can barely remember how it was to be human anymore. Not after going so long without his mate and his children and the rest of his pack.

For the past how many moons that have gone, he had nothing but walkers for company and strangers who shoot him on sight for their fear of seeing a lone five foot blood matted gray-furred wolf. Then there's the ones that Rick avoids at all cost the second he's able to get a whiff of their smell. Men with blood on their hands who find pleasure in killing anything that moves, dead or alive. Rick knew that it would only take one look at his hefty pelt and he'd be dead meat in the eyes of these men so fast he won't know what hit him.

He had days earlier on when he was able to fool himself that he was still the same Rick Grimes, back when he still remembered how to shift to his human form. But the longer he was alone, surviving on his own against herds of walkers, going crazy with thoughts of what had happened to Daryl and his children, to Arcadia, of where they could possibly be, are they safe, of having to run and hide everytime the barrel of a gun's pointed at his direction, his human part stopped giving a shit about maintaining appearances of normalcy and slinked back to the furthermost parts of his soul and stayed put.

Daryl always said it's not healthy on the psyche to let the wolf take control, to always make sure he shifted back to his human form every now and then. But Rick, after so long operating on constant anger, fear for his family's life and heartbreak over the prolonged agony of seeing hide nor hair of Daryl, Carl and Judith, there came the time that he couldn't quite get the hang of changing back and forth between his three forms any longer. Had to eventually fully stop as Shifting just seemed to take too much effort.

He'd been wandering as a wolf ever since.

For what felt like eternity, there hadn't been a single deer or rabbit or squirrel, hell even a possum, in sight. There had been no water either. Rick had been starving and dehydrated. Closest to death he's ever been. Looking back, it was the only explanation he had as to how the humans managed to get a jump on him. With the wolf in the driver's seat, Rick's survival instincts went haywire the second he was caught, a clean shot to the side of his neck, a bloody and violent reminder that he was never going to see his mate and children again if he didn't get up, _up, up_ and maim, rip, kill, _eat_ before any of these assholes could put him down on the ground for good.

He did what he had to do to survive, Rick tells himself the times he has enough energy to spare to feel guilt over what he'd done. It was either he ended up as someone's food or he took what he needed from his captors to live, mainly the meat of their bones and their blood sliding down his throat to quench the thirst.

Because he'll be damned if he gave up without doing all that he can to survive so he could return to his family.

At present, Rick's already so much more wolf than man. He'd been a wolf too long that he can't even remember how it is to talk. He tried, at least at first when it began to really worry him how he could barely form the syllables to say his name, or Daryl's or his children. They were always at the forefront of his mind yes, impossible to forget someone that is a fundamental part of you, something you need to live. Like the heart or the brain. But saying their names out loud had become increasingly hard and challenging the longer he was alone until his capacity for speech deserted him altogether.

Then there came the time that preying on humans became the new norm for the wolf that was once known as Rick Grimes. When there was no animal meat to go on for days, Rick would emerge from whatever hole he'd dug up in and hunt the living instead for food.

Rick sometimes wonders if this was what happened to the Shifter that attacked Daryl in his younger years. Did it get separated from its pack? Lost its mate in that permanent way that Rick refuses to think about, and went batshit insane from the loss? Because Rick feels like he's seriously this close to loosing his own fucking mind without Daryl and his children to keep him tethered and he's terrified that one of these days he's going to screw up and bite off more than he could chew.

Then where would it get him? Dead with no hope of ever reuniting with the family he'd been searching nonstop.

Small mercies that in the days that followed, Rick seems to have entered a territory that while one would not call abundant with game, it was large enough of a hunting ground so he could catch a rabbit or two to feed himself without possibly crossing paths with any humans.

In his search for a lake to take a dip in as his fur was getting matted again and he smelled about as rank as the dead, Rick spotted a cabin in the woods that looked to have once belonged to a couple of hunters. Emphasis on the couple as the cabin had enough picture frames of the two men, one sandy blond and the other with dark hair who looked to be of Hispanic origin, clad in their hunting gear, who were always holding hands or in a lip-lock with a wolf's carcass in front of them.

It was a morbidly fascinating realization that he managed to come across a cabin where hunters once lived, ones that would not only shoot him on sight but take a damn photo of Rick's dead carcass to add to their collection of kodak moments if they had been around.

In less than a minute, the agitated wolf had pushed all the photos to the floor, piled them up and tracked mud all over their shattered frames just on principle.

He ransacked the house for any food, nosing into places with his bushy tail hanging low, only to find the canned type that's useless to his current predicament. He can't even Shift to his hybrid form anymore, it's pathetic. At least there's still jugs of water sitting around. Thank fuck water never goes stale and so he drank his fill.

Even though half the water went to the floor.

Feeling a little less dehydrated than he did a couple of days prior, Rick decides to go for a hunt next. The lake at the back of the cabin can wait. Food will always take precedence over a bath, no matter how tempting.

That's how Rick found himself on the trail of a deer an hour later, salivating like a rabig dog, his sharp canines bared. He hadn't had venison in so long and Rick swears he's going to bury his teeth in that beauty's neck even if its the last thing he did. Rick's so focused on the hunt that he didn't realize he was close to the road more than he's ever planned on being. The sound of a motorcycle coming his way just about gave him a heart attack.

Unfortunately, the sound spooked the deer just as much and ran the other direction, away from the noise. Rick is about to give chase when a familiar, beloved scent catches his attention causing his whole body to go rigid, head whipping towards where the smell, the scent is coming from.

_Daryl!_

Rick sprints after the scent in a heartbeat, leaving grooves on the ground, paw prints as big as tire tracks as the wolf makes a mad dash towards its mate's side, increasingly getting angrier, teeth bared in a viscious snarl as it comes closer and is able to get a firmer read of its mate's state by the stench of fear and hopelessness coming off of him in waves.

Daryl's hurt. The smell of blood, old and new practically clinging to him like a second skin and there are unwelcome smells on him, belonging to people that ain't family. There's no trace of Carl or Judith or anybody else. Though Rick can still smell a trace of himself on Daryl because Rick knows it in his bones and his soul that no amount of time or separation can fully erase his mark on his mate.

He reeks of Dwight however, which has Rick gnashing his teeth in fury at the implication it brings. And Dwight just flat out smells wrong. He carries a faint scent of his wife with him, a bit of Rosita, but above it all, there's a scent that Rick never thought he'd smell again.

He reeks of that bastard Negan.

A supposedly very dead bastard Negan.

Rick breaks through the foliage and onto the main road just in time to see the back of the truck. His mate is sat upon one of the seats with men beside him all carrying guns and Daryl looking like he's lost all the fight in him, evident from his hunched shoulders to the absolutely exhausted look on his dirt-streaked face. His mate looks every bit like he was put through the wringer and then some more.

And Rick knows with one hundred percent certainty, and without a doubt that these men are to blame. The wolf snaps its jaws, vision turning a red haze as amber eyes narrow into dangerous slits. The siren call of blood, to rip and bite and render flesh is so strong he can almost taste it.

Rick snarls at the same exact moment one of the men's head turn and sees Rick's bulk running straight for them, looking every bit the rabid and feral wolf that he feels with his protective instincts on full display.

Frightened screams and frantic yells to shoot followed by bullets flying towards Rick that he manages to evade easily enough erupts from the group and before anyone could so much as reload their weapons, Rick lunges for the truck, maw open and bites a man's head clean off, blood spraying everywhere as he goes for the next kill and the next, making sure he's keeping Daryl safely pressed to the side as he rips apart the men that dared hurt him.

He's going to make every single one of these assholes pay.

No one hurts Rick's family and gets away with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious, is anyone confused about what's happening? *squints at tags* I mean, I think its pretty clear right? Or not? Maybe I'm just a really bad narrator? Let me know your thoughts. I'd love some feedback. 
> 
> Also just want to put it out there that the reason why Wolf Rick thinks he was able to smell a bit of his scent in Canon Daryl is because of Canon Rick having been kinda close to Canon Daryl at one point during Negan's early visit to Alexandria. 
> 
> Next chapter will be done in Canon Daryl's POV so yay!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update. Its been a hectic couple of months with several trips to the ER because of pneumonia and GERD. And oh joy, got diagnosed an anxiety disorder too which is a bitch to manage. I thank my RWG family for being there for me when I was particularly feeling down and providing me life saving supply of Rickyl Fluffy Non-ZA AU fics while I was still oversensitive about everything. 
> 
> But yay. Finally have this out and I hope it don't disappoint. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I wrote it!
> 
> Unbetad so any mistakes are my own.

_Maggie's dead._

It takes all of Daryl's self-control not to fall apart on the spot as soon as he hears the news. He's been trying to catch Rick's gaze when he thought Negan isn't looking, trying to give him the Sanctuary's location through morse code, though he knows it ain't working shit when his eyes kept waterin' in the sunlight after so long in the dark. But the second Maggie's death reaches his ears, miscarriage they say, Daryl can't bear to look at no one no more, most of all Rick, shame and guilt swallowing him up like a black hole and sucking the fight out of him. 

He's better off dead, is the next thought that flashes through his head, crippling depression taking over and for a moment he welcomes the gun that Negan’s pointing at his head while he does his bidding, taking all of Alexandria’s weapons; willing Rick to not do stupid shit as he stands nearby, tense and poised to act if and when Negan pulls the trigger.

He had Glenn killed, and now Maggie, along with the baby. No one in his family should want to have anything to do with him after what he'd gone and done. But Rick... he just knows that Rick won't even blame him for it even when what happened on the way to Hilltop, hell even Denise, was all his damn fault. How this shitstorm coulda been avoided if he'd only gotten rid of Dwight when he should. 

He don't deserve Rick bargaining for his freedom from Negan. Can't risk the asshole pulling out demands in exchange for his hide that could potentially get more of his family killed.

So he refused to take the damn bait, even when every fiber of his being wants nothing more than to run to Rick and cry like a pansy on his shoulder, groveling for forgiveness that Rick no doubt would insist there was no need for. 

If he's going to take Negan down and quite possibly die in the process, then Daryl's gonna make damn sure his family’s as far away from that psycho as possible where he can't hurt them. Where he can't hurt Rick. Or Carl. Or Lil' Asskicker. He knows that as much as Maggie and Glenn's deaths pain him, of how much he cares for Carol, Michonne and the rest of their family, that if he was to lose any of them three most precious people in his life, Rick moreso, he won't be able to function no more. 

He'd simply cease to fuckin' breathe. 

Daryl's shaking limbs protest as he climbs the back of the truck. He gets shoved hard, nearly faceplanting on the truck's floor and breaking his nose if he'd been a second slower in planting his arms out in front of him to break the fall. Jeers and raucous laughter erupt from the men following behind him. 

_Fuckin' dickbags._

Taking his seat, Daryl finally manages to catch Rick's eyes as the truck's engine roars to life and the vehicle rolls away from Alexandria's gates. He feels the breath get punched out of him the second he sees Rick's face. His blue eyes are red-rimmed and wet with unshed tears as he watches. Angry. Helpless.

Daryl hates to think that his last memory would be of Rick's broken expression. Feels an immeasurable amount of regret that he never got around to telling him what he really feels. For years he's loved that man like the very air he breathes, had shown Rick the depth of his devotion in everything but words. And he's afraid that he ain't ever gonna be given the chance to form the words he's always been wantin' to tell him.

So he drinks his fill, stares at Rick and tries to convey feelings through his eyes that he could never utter with his mouth. And hoping that maybe, Rick will understand and won't hate him for it. Won't feel betrayed that Daryl's been looking at him more than a brother and didn't say nothin' all these years.

Once Rick is out of sight, Daryl opts to hang his head against his chest, appearing for all the world like he's one second from toppling over. Which is not so far from the truth. Dog food and lack of water can only do so much to provide him the energy he needs to keep going in between isolation and beatings. 

But he had years of abuse in his old man's hands. He might feel hopeless and defenseless with his current situation about eighty percent of the time, but he's a stubborn sonofabitch if nothing else. He didn't keel over and die all the times his Pa beat him growing up on worse fucking conditions. Learned to tune out the blows and grit his teeth through the humiliation and pain. Just a kid that didn't see an end in sight, had nothing to fight for and yet survived the shithole that was his life. What more now when he has family to defend and protect?

Daryl's vowed early on that if he is to die, he's going to take the bastard Negan down with him. In fuckin' pieces if possible. He wants to make it hurt. See the bastard suffer. He ain't got no concrete plan in mind yet, but Daryl knows with stone cold certainty that he can't allow that asshole to continue reigning terror on his family. Make a bad joke out of Rick.

He's dehydrated and the sun wasn't helping him any when he was carrying them boxes earlier. Daryl closes his eyes for a minute's worth of rest, shoulders dropping and half-curling in on himself. He gets a swat to the head which makes his vision swim when he opens his eyes. Someone calls him a bitch followed by more taunts, askin' if the bitch was gonna cry. He looks at the men in front of him, sight blurring yet still glares at them with all the anger he feels. Hates that he can't help but flinch when he sees the punch coming. 

But it never does. 

There's sudden shouts and guns going off that makes his ears ring and then the inside of the truck goes dark. Something big is in front of his face, heavy and warm pinning him to the side as blood spray hit him in the face, saturating his clothes in between gurgling noises of the dying. 

The stench of blood and viscera is suddenly so strong he ends up gagging, only to get a mouthful of fur, which in turn makes him cough up like his chest is seizing. Daryl recoils the second his hand lands on a severed half-chewed head, brain matter sticking to his fingers and quickly realizes its the guy that was about to punch him. He gags more, sees blood flooding the inside of the truck ankle deep and shudders. 

The pressure on his chest leaves and he can see the outside of the back of the truck again. Whatever it was that attacked them is no longer in sight, but he can hear more noise around him, Negan cursing like a sailor up ahead as more shrieks of fear and the sound of flesh getting torn apart registers to his ears. Something keeps growling and howling, as if on a warpath, more gunfire and shouts then there's the sound of walkers groaning. He can see a number of them shambling out of the trees and Daryl really, really has to get the fuck outta there. 

He never gets the chance though as there's a sudden deafening boom, fire licking at his heels and he gets suspended in the air before gravity pulls him back down, his bruised and beaten body ricocheting around the corners of the truck like a pingpong ball. He thinks he hit his head three times before he lands hard on his side with the remains of the truck strewn around him. Fucking fuck! That was the rocket launcher. 

"Shoot it! Fuck, how the hell?"

"It's just a dumb animal. It's not supposed to dodge!! "

Despite the fucked up situation, Daryl can't help but let out a snort of dark amusement. Yeah, be afraid you assholes. Man's mostly dumb. Animals operate on pure instinct. Clearly, whoever said it was just a dumb animal haven't hunted shit in his life.

"Goddammit, it's fast! AHHHHHHH!"

"Franklin! Shit! Die you fucking beast! Oh crap!"

"Ted! Holy fucking hell."

"It keeps aiming for the heads!"

"Roamers! Let's get out of here!"

"Nick! Watch your... Fuck!"

Faintly he hears a chorus of panicked _Let's gos_ and _Leave its!_ along with the groans of the undead. _Walkers!_ Daryl curses, feeling monumentally fucked as he lies on the open road.

He ain't got any weapons with him and he can't physically get up. Too weak to so much as lift a hand. And something's seriously hurting him on the side. He hopes to fuck it ain't a damn broken rib. Is this how he's gonna die? Walker food? At least give him something to knife himself in the head with. Shit. There's truck debris around him. There should be stuff sharp enough he can use. He ain't about gonna let himself come back as one of them dead rotting bastards and risk coming across Rick and his family. 

But as much as Daryl wills himself to move, to do something, he can't. And the edges of his vision is steadily getting dark. 

The last thing he sees before lights went out is of a giant wolf rushing towards him, thick fur a mess of red as if it took a bath in a sea of blood, its yellow eyes regarding Daryl intensely with the gaze of a predator riding high from fresh kills.

Shit. Shit shit shit. He was so screwed.

 

* * *

 

He comes out of consciousness with the image of trees and the sky in his direct line of sight and the feel of the hard ground against his back. There's a sound of rustling, of something getting dragged across a forest floor which he soon realizes is actually him. Somethin's dragging him somewhere. Before he can fully understand what that means for his life, darkness comes back with a vengeance and pulls him under.

The next time Daryl opens his eyes is to the sight of canned goods surrounding him and a toppled over water jug and... he squints, not quite sure if that really is a can opener? 

He tries to move and winces as soon as he shifts, then promptly freezes when he hears a soft snort of breath directly to his right, ruffling the unruly strands of his hair. Daryl swallows, limbs coiling tight when he realizes that he's within chewing distance of a wolf's head and that he's half encased around the animal's enormous body, pressed so close that he can feel every inhale and exhale of the beast across his back. 

Quickly, his eyes dart around the room for a weapon and inwardly curses that he only has a pathetic can opener that can be used against such a massive animal. Won't matter now if he's just bruised his ribs. He's going to get fuckin' eaten.

Wait, how is that can opener on the floor? And why is there food and water at all? The wolf couldn't have... Daryl remembers the shouts he heard from the Saviors about their attacker being smart, how it was going for the heads. Even them predators can't be that intelligent. And it sure hell can't be tryin' to feed a human when it'd just been eating people left and right. 

Wolves are known for their hunting skills and killing things either for food or just for shits and giggles. It sure won't be rescuing Daryl. Maybe its saving Daryl for its next meal? It could have adapted to the damn apocalypse when food is getting scarcer with each day and learned to store food.

Just Daryl's fucking luck.

Still don't explain why its curled around him as if protecting its young with food and water at the ready by Daryl's feet.

There's a low growl and Daryl practically leaps to his feet like them dumb cartoon characters back in the day when he turns his head and sees the wolf staring at him at the corner of its amber eye. Daryl has the can opener in his grip in a second, goes low with his arm out and body poised to stab. 

Now that he's facing the animal, he feels his spine go rigid as his head starts chanting _fuckfuckfuck_  like a dying mantra when he realizes just how big the damn thing is. 

He's just about to go for the jugular, size difference be damned when the wolf puts its head down adjacent to the floor and pushes a few of the canned goods towards Daryl with its snout, as if egging him to use the can opener already and eat the damn thing before he dies of starvation. When Daryl remains frozen, it huffs and lets out a short low bark. 

"Ya want me to eat this?" Daryl asks, perplexed. Quite likely loosing his mind too since he's talking to a wolf.

It lets out another low rumble and nudges the water jug with it's nose too, lets out two barks like its ordering him to _drink up._

Daryl's always prided himself in his instincts, known exactly when he should be fighting or running from danger to fight another day, knew the good ones from the bad. Aaron recruited him for the runs cause of that after all. But then Dwight fuckin' happened so really his instincts ain't worth shit. The logical thing to do is shut it up and just kill the beast. Somehow. So he can go back to his family. But then, its not attacking, and no matter how crazy it sounds, don't seem to have any plans for Daryl other than feeding him and getting him hydrated.

He ain't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Slowly, he takes one canned food, all the while keeping his eyes steady on the wolf for any hostile movement even as he begins twisting the can with the opener to get to the food inside. The wolf doesn't do anything but stare, ears perking up in encouragement when Daryl begins shoveling meatloaf into his mouth. He reaches for the half-empty jug, eyes still fixed on the animal before he opens the cap and sniffs inside. Don't smell like nothin' and so with a shrug Daryl drinks. 

The water sliding down his throat has never felt so damn good.

After he was done drinkin and pourin' a small amount over his face to get rid of the dried blood on his skin and hair, he strong arms the rest of the canned goods and the water jug and takes several steps back until the back of his knees meet the edge of a bed. He lands on his butt and forgets himself for a moment as he takes a survey of the rest of the room. Sees a nightstand, a closet, some posters. It's an actual bedroom with a bed. 

He looks back towards the wolf, notices it has the bedroom door blocked as it lays sprawled on its side, his mind running a mile a minute. "Ya found this place and holed up here?" 

The wolf blinks at him before its head falls back to the floor where it proceeds to simply stare at the archer, like Daryl being there is all it needs in its life and seriously what is with those eyes looking at him like that? Like its happy and depressed at the same time when its got its eyes on Daryl.

Fuck. Why do them deep yellows remind him of Rick? 

Now that Daryl's looking in between bites, he sees that the wolf is a rusty brown with specks of gray and red in places where blood didn't dry out just yet. Daryl checks out south of its body and sees that its a boy wolf, half of its tail singed. He stares, feeling angry on its behalf when he sees several bullet wounds on its large frame. The wounds don't seem to bother it all that much though so Daryl hopes it ain't dying or nothin'. 

_Am I wishing the wolf lives and gets the chance to eat me?_

But if it wanted to eat him, shouldn't he be all chewed up and digested by now? There was no way Daryl could have escaped that slaughter with them walkers approaching. He'd been prime for feeding all defenseless and helpless. And someone... something, had to have dragged him up to this... wherever this place is when he'd been out cold. And he's not heard no human around with the wolf growling and barking and him scrambling earlier from his position against its body. 

He studies the beast, meets its steady though seemingly tired yet warm gaze. There's something in its eyes that feels so goddamn familiar that he can't quite put a finger on but other than that, there's a look there too that Daryl thinks might've been the reason that it stayed its hand, or muzzle as it were. 

What Daryl knows of wolves is that them predators run in packs. But this one's alone. His family could have been killed already or it got separated from the rest... like Daryl.

Maybe it felt that.... Daryl was just as alone as him?

Daryl tenses mid-chew when the wolf begins to pull itself up on shaky legs, wobbling for a second before it seems to get its feet under control and slowly inches towards Daryl. 

Damn. It's easily five feet tall. Prolly around six hundred pounds. 

Survival instincts kicking in now that he's got food and water in him, Daryl's ready to make a run for it or fight for his life, whichever he'd get the chance to do first, in case the wolf is in fact about to eat him when it suddenly noses at Daryl's groin, resulting in the archer letting out a loud yelp that he fuckin' hopes walkers nearby didn't hear. 

"Hey, get off! Stop that." Daryl hisses, feeling like ice has just been poured down his back as he tries to lift the giant head and the sharp fuckin' canine teeth away from his junk. All he gets is a low growl before the wolf starts trying to tug his pants off. "Woah woah woah! What are ya doing?"

The wolf pulls back and huffs an irritated breath at Daryl. It barks and then starts tugging at the hem of his shirt. When Daryl isn't letting up, it stops nosing into places it shouldn't and goes towards the closet and paws the closet door open. Daryl stares, jaw dropping. He's never seen a damn wolf, let alone any animal open closet doors like that.

 _S'prolly a circus wolf_ , Daryl thinks. Got lost from its family when the apocalypse hit. There sure ain't no wolves in this part of Virginia. Let alone something that big. And smart.

And apparently is a prissy shit that don't like how Daryl reeks. Like it's one to talk with its fur in clumps of dried blood. 

"You want me to put those on?" Daryl asks and gets another growl in reply. The wolf just honest-to-god trotted back to him and placed a pair of pants and shirt on the bed. He's impressed. There ain't even slobber. "I know I smell like those fucks ya chewed up back there and you didn't like them much, huh?" 

Another bark. And is it nodding its head?

Daryl purses his lips and shrugs. "Yeah. Can't hurt." 

And a change of clothes is definitely welcome. 

"I fuckin' hate this jumpsuit. Good thinkin'. Thanks." Daryl says, catches himself mid smile and sighs wearily because he's really talking to a wolf. He shakes his head and welcomes the strangeness of their exchange. He'd take having a one-sided conversation with an animal any day than hearing that fucking Easy Street song again in between them bastards inflicting to Daryl whatever strikes the asshole Negan's fancy. 

'Sides, there ain't no denying it. The wolf saved Daryl's life. Its the only thing that makes sense of how he's still alive and just had his first satisfying meal in weeks. His thoughts turn to Rick and the low supply Alexandria has on food, but mostly on Rick and their Lil' Asskicker. Christ, is she getting enough to eat?

"Shit. I gotta get back to Rick. To Lil' Asskicker. And Carl." He says, fingers raking through matted hair, a tired groan escaping him. He feels a tug on his sleeve and glances at the animal with a, "Yeah, I'll get dressed in a second." only for it to growl in protest. "You're bossy ya know that? Damn wolf." 

He'd have a mind to call it Rick for the bossy attitude. Not just because he misses his best friend slash brother like a phantom limb. 

Daryl frowns. He can't really keep calling it wolf all the time though, right? He turns and focuses his attention on the huge animal and takes notice of the military dog tags at the center of its neck wrapped around a chain-link type of necklace.

"I'm gonna check your tags. Easy and slow, alright? I ain't gonna hurtcha." Daryl says, putting up a hand tentatively in the space between them as if there's a chance in hell he could hurt this beast when it really gets down to it. He's gonna make sure he goes down swinging though if it comes to that.

The wolf snorts as if sharing Daryl's train of thought of who the clear winner was gonna be in a fight between man and beast and feels just a bit offended. "I'll have ya know I'm a damn fine hunter. Took down a damn bear once so laugh it up." It didn't need ta know he shot the bear at a safe distance.

In reply, the wolf butts its head against Daryl's open palm, his fingers landing on the center of its forehead. He chances to rub the spot gently, petting it and Daryl's lips twitch in the corners for a smile when it begins purr-whimpering under his hand. It seems to like Daryl's touch for some odd reason. His theory of the circus wolf, with how domesticated it seems at times is beginning to look more and more likely.

Slowly, he fingers at one of the tags but most of the letters had faded, or it just needs a thorough cleaning for them words to pop up again so it doesn't just read _DickFever_. Its prolly his owner's names engraved with the word Forever at the end or some other sentimental shit like that.

"Huh. Would you look at that. Yer name Sheriff?" Daryl grins as soon as he sees the word etched on the other tag and chuckles when the wolf barks as if in confirmation.

"I got this friend. He a sheriff too. Well, sheriff's deputy more like, don't see no difference really. Name's Rick." That gets another bark, almost like excitement to hear Rick's name. 

"He's great. Best man I know. I think you're gonna like him."

And that there is dangerous because Daryl's beginning to make plans as if he's taking the beast with him back to Alexandria. As much as it seems to like Daryl, enough for it to want to nurse him back to health, there's no telling how it'll react to others. To the rest of his family. He'd already seen what it did to the Saviors. It could just as easily snap when threatened. 

Daryl's torn. On one hand, its been nothing but helpful and kind and blinking up at him so innocently like it can't hurt a damn fly. But its still a threat and if Daryl leaves him here, or somewhere it can't go out again to hurt people, he'd just be sentencing it to a worse fate. He can't find it in himself to be okay with isolating or starving it. He knows the feeling all too well. So that leaves him with a mercy killing and that one sits just as heavily in his stomach as much as the other option.

Should he really be planning at all when he's as exhausted as he is? He's not clearly thinkin' straight. Maybe this ain't even real. Some weird dream or hallucination from dehydration. Or maybe he just needs to sleep on it so he can think better, more lucid on what to do with the beast without having to kill it. 

Also, he reeks as all high hell like the Sanctuary right now and he'd definitely not say no to a shower. Or even a little splash to clean and get rid of that hellhole's stink from his skin. 

"Ya got any runnin' water in here, boy?"

The question earns him a head tilt that Daryl finds all kinds of adorable before Sheriff does a combination of a whimper-growl and trots to the bedroom door, pawing at the knob until there's a click and it shimmies through the gap. The door opens wide and it waits for Daryl on the other side, letting out that same whimper-growl again like it wants to Daryl to follow.

Daryl pulls himself up to his feet with a flinch and a wince. He won't be surprised if his entire upper body now looks like a typogrophical map of bruises and cuts, new and old after er'thing that happened. 

He passes through the door, an arm around his midsection with a bit of a limp in his step. He's been doing a fairly good job of ignoring the throbbing in his side and the tenderness of his ribs. But now that the shock and adrenaline of being in direct contact with a giant ass wolf that he thought was intent on eating him had worn off, all the aches and pains are making themselves known and boy does it hurt like a bitch.

"What?" Daryl drawls when Sheriff presses to his side, nudging the hand where he's still holding the can opener in a death grip like it wants to... Daryl scowls, realization dawning. "I can walk fine on my own. Don't need no support. I ain't an invalid."

He gets another headbutt to the wrist and a huff accompanied by a growl that sounds exasperated as he gets aimed one helluva stink eye. He's not about to test the beast's patience. "Fine."

He tosses the pathetic excuse for a weapon to a nearby table and curls his fingers through clumps of muddy-red fur. The walk is thankfully short as they arrive at what Daryl can tell is the bathroom. He lets go of his hold on the wolf's fur and surveys the inside. Sees a decent-sized tub and a showerhead.

Now to test if there's still running water available. 

The pressure's nonexistent and there's no hot water but that's more than enough. He didn't need none of that fancy shit anyway.

He glances behind him when he hears the sound of retreating clicks of nails on the floor, seeing the half end of the animal before it rounds a corner. Daryl didn't have to wait long as Sheriff comes just as quickly with the change of clothes in between its mouth and looking at Daryl with them big yellow eyes, like its telling him to take what was being offered, and quick.

"Thank you." Daryl says, feeling a good kind of confused with just how smart the wolf seems to be. "What about cha? Ya look like ya took a dip in the mud. Can't be comf'table." The archer merely gets pushed none-too-gently inside the bathroom by way of responding and gets a parting mixture of a bark-growl before it disappears around the corner again. 

He waits at least a minute if it has any intention to come back and what? Join Daryl in a bath? That's all kinds of a bad idea. With a shrug, he slowly moves toward the direction of the living room and sees the wolf sitting by the closed door, guarding the only entrance to the cabin that he could see. Notices that its already dark outside. How long was he out? 

His gaze darts back to the animal. Christ. That beast almost acts like its a human being. Definitely more human than the ones he's been in close quarters with recently.

With the assurance that its safe to get cleaned, Daryl limps back to the bathroom and does quick work of ridding himself of the stench and the grime of the Sanctuary and making sure that he ain't aggravating any of his bruises more than he already has. Once done, Daryl sniffs himself and cringes as he smells the fruity shampoo that was the only thing left by the sink.

Better that than smelling like month's old shit. 

Moving to the living room, he sees the door closed but the wolf's nowhere in sight. "Hey, Sheriff?" he calls out, voice low.

The front door swings open and in comes the wolf in question, no longer looking like it rolled around in mud. It's thick coat is now gray with specs of white and is sticking up in all directions.

It's so cute and adorable as fuck. _Calm down, Dixon._

"Didja take a swim in a lake somewhere?" Daryl asks as Sheriff sniffs the air and turns its head to look at the archer. Daryl has just enough time to clamp his mouth and fight off another yelp when the wolf rushes to him and noses into his crotch again and just... kept sniffing. "Woah, woah easy. Christ. You gotta stop doing that shit. That ain't right. Hey, pull away!"

It growls angrily and Daryl worryingly thinks he's seriously going to finally be wolf food when he manages to push it off his junk and the animal lets out a pathetic, wounded whimper instead. There's what feels like a lifetime's worth of a staredown between the two that really only lasts for half a minute before the wolf concedes and licks him in the face affectionately as if its apologizing.

"Yeah, ya should be sorry." Daryl says after a beat, hands coming up to cup the beast's dumb big face, blue-grey and yellow gazes locking. Daryl knows he's beginning to get attached and it hasn't even been a day yet. He just knows it'll already hurt like fuck when the time comes he'll have to put it down. "I ain't mad. S'just weird. You can stop pouting now."

It's a few minutes after that Daryl goes back to the bedroom and resume to empty the other canned goods for dinner. More than once he's offered Sheriff food but the wolf refuses, only nudges Daryl's hand back to himself so he can resume eating.

Once he's had his fill, Daryl ventures outside intent on setting up a perimeter with the wolf dogging each step like a worried mother hen. Sheriff keeps prodding him with its snout to get back in the cabin that Daryl somehow manages to ignore and didn't get no angry growl in retaliation like he did earlier. He didn't have to be out in the dark for long though as the cabin is already surrounded by wires and cans serving to trap and prevent walkers from wandering inside. 

"Didja set that up?" Daryl asks the beast beside him which had taken the liberty to place its head on top of his shoulder, with eyes that seems to glow as it glares into the darkness looking for any possible threats. Daryl lets the thought go. It's smart. But it can't be that smart.

Later, Daryl pulls the covers from the bed that feels like it was gonna eat him alive after so long lying down on a cold, hard cement, and throws them on the floor instead.

Sheriff is by the bedroom door, looking to be taking his guard duty very seriously as Daryl begins to settle in for the night.  It takes about twenty minutes of staring at each other, the wolf in particular looking at Daryl like it hates the miniscule space separating them but was not willing to move from the door, that Daryl finally pulls himself up to sitting and sighs. 

After all, he recalls waking up just a few hours ago literally surrounded by fur and warmth. Mind made up, he picks up his makeshift bed and ambles toward the door, then dropping the covers by Sheriff's side. Wolves are pack animals. Now that it knows what it feels like to sleep next to another warm body after so long, it prolly has trouble sleeping without one.

"Scoot." Daryl tells the animal and with just the barest amount of hesitation, rests his back against its large bulk, head propped near its strong neck. There's a bit of shuffling and twisting as Sheriff tries to get to a comfortable position, curling its body around Daryl so thr archer's surrounded by all sides with generous amounts of fur and a calming warmth.

"G'night, Sheriff." Daryl says and gets a lick and a soft whimper in reply. Cocooned in the feeling of safety, like nothing can hurt him anymore is how Daryl finally succumbs to sleep.

Only to wake up in the morning with an arm resting across his stomach and something hard insistently poking at his ass cheeks. 

Daryl's eyes fly open in panic, hand automatically grabbing for a crossbow that ain't there. He goes for his boot next for a knife that's just nonexistent as he swiftly rises to his feet, turns to see who the fucker was that managed to creep up on him through the night and... Daryl's brain screeches to a stop, shock and confusion practically bludgeoning him in the head as he takes in the very naked sight in front of him. 

Daryl stares at the face and watches in muted disbelief as deep-seated eyelids flutter open to the exact same shade of amber that's been his companion the night before, shimmering and making way to familiar striking blues as gorgeous as the Georgia skies that he's loved for a long, long time.

"R-Rick?" Daryl chokes out, wide eyes roving from that painfully familiar face, down to those full lips breaking into a smile that just about melts his insides and to the chain-link necklace that hangs loose across his chest that had belonged to the wolf that saved his life. 

What the fuck is going on here? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedbacks are always loved and appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> So, guys ya gotta be honest with me. Was that too far out there? Lol. Wanna know if its worth posting the next chapters. If not I'd rather keep in private and not hafta expose ya guys to lame writing. 
> 
> Comments are food for the soul :D I love them and would like to hear your thoughts and what you think of the story so far. I gotta be honest, I'm an insecure little shit so external stimulant is important. Lol. And it would really be awesome to do a back and forth with y'all fellow Rickyl fans. 'Sides, it gets the creative juices flowing. 
> 
> Drop me a line :) I don' t bite.


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